


Everybody Dies. What If...? Requiem Aeternam

by owlbsurfinbird



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Afterlife, Angels, Death, Episode Related, Gen, Guardian Angels, Heaven, Limbo, Purgatory, Sad and Sweet, Sad with a Happy Ending, Sweet Ending, Tearjerker, au-ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-22
Updated: 2014-08-22
Packaged: 2018-02-14 05:40:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2180046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlbsurfinbird/pseuds/owlbsurfinbird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens after they die? How do friends go on?<br/>No gore, no violence. Just brief, blatant sentimentality. And angels.</p><p>What does Purgatory look like for the Chief Super? What if Val Lewis lived? Why is Hobson sitting on tombstone? What if Lewis had died at CreveCoeur?</p><p>All of the major characters are dead in these ficlets. And all of them are okay with it. Really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everybody Dies. What If...? Requiem Aeternam

# Purgatory

**Not everyone makes it to Heaven immediately. What would Purgatory be like for Chief Superintendent Jean Innocent?**

Jean Innocent opened the door of the non-descript room. Seeing the three people seated at the table, she gave a frustrated sigh. "Ah, hell."

"Purgatory, James says," Lewis jerked a thumb at Hathaway, sitting beside him. "In between."

"Like limbo?"

"Limbo is where unbaptized infacts go," said Hathaway. "Despite media attention, the Pope did not close it in 2007."

"I thought it was a game." Hobson shrugged. 

"How low can you go," huffed Jean, taking a seat. "Well, this seems familiar." She stared at Hobson. "Wait. You're not dead. You were just in my office."

"It's a timey-wimey thing. You wouldn't understand." Hobson crossed arms on the table. "How on earth did you fail to see that lorry?"

Lewis smiled slightly. "Always wondered where that expression came from: 'how on earth—' Makes perfect sense now." 

"I was on my mobile coordinating—oh, never mind."

Hathaway sighed. "It is helpful to know so that accidents can be prevented in the future."

"Don't tell me you're in charge of accident prevention."

"Unfortunately, no. My job is to bring people in."

Jean stared at him, open mouthed. "You're the grim reaper."

Hathaway pursed his lips, considering his response thoughtfully. "Hippolytus of Rome described the experience of purgatory as temporary punishments agreeable to every one's behavior and manners. I make sure that the dead are legitimately supposed to be here." 

Lewis stretched his arms out onto the table to encompass several stacks of paperwork that she hadn't noticed before. "I have to do the paperwork."

Hathaway quirked a grin. "I have to read it. While not eternal suffering, it is close enough."

"Oh, shut it, you." Lewis' said fondly. "Between you and Hobson I've gotten better."

Jean clasped her hands in front of her, wishing she had a cup of tea. To her right, a cup suddenly materialized. "Thanks," she said, looking up.

"Careful what you wish for," Hobson cautioned. "I wished that I could keep people from ending up in the morgue and now that's all I do. Speaking of that, Hathaway, you need to nudge Julie. She has to be more careful out there. Nearly got hit by a car chasing a suspect."

"There's a form for that—" Lewis began.

"No—I'll take care of it." Hathaway explained, "Julie can't afford any more incidents. She's an excellent officer, but she takes unnecessary risks."

"As I'm sure you know, we've had a series of violent robberies. She's in the forefront of the investigation. One man was nearly killed—" Jean stopped and stared at Hobson. "You kept him from being killed?"

"That was me. Laura was busy," said Lewis. 

"Good work," Jean said, sipping her tea. She clasped her hands in front of her. Hobson, Hathaway, and Lewis seemed to be waiting for her to speak. "Anything else?"

"No, ma'am, reckon not," Lewis rubbed his chin, smiling. He gave Hathaway a sidelong glance. 

Hathaway gave Lewis a half-smile. "Now that someone else is in charge of accident prevention, I can work with you again. Maybe even help with the paperwork."

The two men rose. Hobson joined them at the open door.

"So I'm to take over accident prevention? I'm in charge—again?" It could be worse, she supposed. At least here I won't be bothered by end of the year reports and budget allocations.

A computer materialized to her right, an Excel spreadsheet visible on the screen. She groaned inwardly and then relaxed. At least she was among friends doing good work. She'd get out of Purgatory eventually. And at least she didn't have to deal with Hooper.

The door opened. "You wanted to see me, ma'am?" Hooper said.

+++

# Hell is Not Knowing

**Hathaway would do anything for Robbie. What if Val lived?**

**Christmas Holidays, 2002**

It's a dream, Hathaway thinks. No, a nightmare. 

Begins to walk, quickly, not sure of his surroundings. London's a big city.

Date on the stack of newspapers: December 19, 2002. Asks a passerby the time.

If he can make it there in time, he can save Val Lewis.

The Foreign Exchange near Marble Arch. He'd seen a map when Monkford had been arrested, the path his vehicle had taken, barreling down Oxford Street to—what was the street? There was a Selfridges or a Marks and Spencer there, Val had been buying Lewis a tie as a Christmas gift. A tie she could have bought anywhere.

Running. Faster. 

Slams into man, shouts apology. Wrong turn. Takes another. Faster. Pushing. Lungs heaving, panting. Struggling to keep his footing in the snow wearing summer shoes, feet moving, heart pounding. 

Oxford Street. Sees Val carrying shopping bags coming out of Marks and Spencer, crossing the bricked pavement. There's a group of carolers in Victorian dress near the building. Val walks as she listens, not paying attention to the traffic around her. 

He's moving in slow motion, not feeling. Must be a dream. Must be.

The hard impact of shoes against pavement pounds at his knees, his body lurches as he pitches forward, pumping his arms, fists punching snow swirls. The air is sharp, cold spears his lungs.

Maybe this is real.

Sees Monkford's car coming around the corner, too fast.

An accident. Simple accident. 

Val glancing up as Hathaway runs toward her. Face concerned, as if she wants to help him, this poor running man without a proper winter coat. He's shouting, shoving her out of the path of the car and…

The last thing Hathaway knows is the sight of a shopping bag flying through the air, a scream, and the screech of tires heading away.

Silence.

++++

**Present Day**

Chief Superintendent Lewis stands looking at the headstone of James Doe. He couldn't bear to bury the man who saved his wife twelve years ago as John Doe. Wouldn't have been right. Never knew who he was. No next of kin. No ID. Didn't feel he deserved an anonymous grave. 

James. 

It's a gentle name. James.

Witnesses said the man came running, tearing around the corner, as if he knew the car would jump onto the curb, as if he knew what would happen. As if the man existed solely to push Val out of the path of that car.

Val said he looked like an angel, jacket flying behind him, fair and golden-haired, arms outstretched. Swore he called her name. 

She must have imagined that.

Val usually came with him on these yearly visits, but she was with his son, Mark and his wife. Another grandchild born last week. With Lyn's kids, that made three. His close family made closer by the sacrifice of this one man. Lewis thought of him every day, nearly. Prayed for him, too, when he made it to church.

He had the sense that having this unsolved mystery in his life had made him a better copper. 

Sometimes he wondered if he wasn't getting a little help now and again, a sensation of someone watching out for him. He'd felt that for a month or two after Morse passed, a kind of prickly sensation, and he wasn't one for ghosts or angels. 

But this—this was different. This was warm and friendly and bright and dammit, he could almost hear someone whispering, "Sir" at times. Always in step at his side. 

Came here more often than anyone in his family knew. 

This one man had carved a place in his heart.

And he didn't even know who he really was.

+++

# Sitting on a Tombstone

**Laura was thrown into an open grave. What if Hathaway hadn't reached her in time?**

"My oxygen ran out an hour ago," she said, sitting cross legged on a fallen headstone, staring dispassionately at the mound of dirt piled on her dead body. She swung her leg back and forth feeling oddly free.

James and Robbie were still flinging dirt everywhere, the ambulance still hadn't arrived. "You know better," she chided them. "Should have just called SOCO and left it at that."

Robbie was gritting his teeth. _Man's going to put himself in a grave if he's not careful, digging hard like that. His heart's going like a jackhammer._

She stood up and slipped her hands around him, her palms pushing against his chest.

He dropped the shovel, standing abruptly. He shivered violently, pale in the moonlight.

"Sir?! Are you all right?" Hathaway took his arm, pulling him away from Laura who gave a frustrated sigh.

"Dammit, James, just when I get my hands on him, you pull him away."

"Sir, Robbie, sit down," James fumbled with his mobile, panicked, checking on the ambulance.

"I'm fine," Lewis said, breathing raggedly. Tears streamed down his face, cutting trails in the dirt on his cheeks. 

"He is, you know. I stopped that little flutter. You're welcome, both of you," Laura sat beside Robbie, putting her hand on his back. He gave a little shiver.

"Ambulance is on its way," Hathaway said, cautiously.

Lewis looked numb. "She's gone."

"I'm right here," Laura sighed. 

Hathaway seemed to look right at her then, as if he heard her. 

"Hathaway? Can you hear me, James?"

"No," he whispered. 

She gave him a look. "Is that 'No, I can't hear you' or 'No, oh, my God, I can hear you'?"

He frowned, uncertain.

"Well?" She stood up and put her hands out to touch his chest. "Can you feel that?"

"It's cold," Hathaway said. "Sir? Are you warm enough? Is there a blanket in your car?"

"You can hear me, can't you, James Hathaway? Don't give me that innocent look, I can see it. I can walk into your mind and see everything," she watched as his eyes widened in horror.

"Gotcha," she said, grinning. "I can't read minds, but you and I should have a little chat." She sighed. "I'm not sure how all this works, but if I'm tied to my body, it's going to be very inconvenient. I think I may have to go soon."

"You all right, James?" Lewis wanted to know. "You look—odd."

"Nice that you're both checking in with each other, really, but my body isn't even cold yet—"

"I'm fine, sir," Hathaway said in a shaky voice. "I'm sorry." He met Laura's eyes, tears glistened in his eyes. "So sorry."

She shrugged, smiling sadly. 

The SOCO van pulled up, lights dark. The ambulance followed, lights blazing. To be expected, really, since she was dead and Lewis would live a long and healthy life. 

James had his hand on Robbie's shoulder, pulling him close without actually hugging him. "Wouldn't do, would it, James, to let your feelings out," Laura said, dryly. 

Lewis took a deep shuddering breath. Hathaway adjusted the blanket on Lewis' shoulders. SOCO had started digging.

"I really don't want to hang around here, boys. I'm sure I don't look my best."

Hathaway's eyes were searching for her. Comical, really. Must be fading. She had a sudden image of the future and she smiled. 

She leaned forward, kissing his cheek, her hand on the other side of his face. Probably chilling him to the bone. Giving him a little validation that she was there. 

His palm went to his cheek, a startled expression on his face. 

"Now here's how all this will go, James Hathaway. I want you to take care of Robbie. Not just as his sergeant, not just as his work partner, not just as his friend—get the picture? I will be watching you."

She leaned in to Robbie, holding his tear stained face in her palms. "Robbie, take care of your daft sod." She brushed his lips with her own. His face went a little paler.

"Laura," whispered James, anguished.

"It'll be all right," Lewis put his hand on top of Hathaway's.

"Damn right it will," said Laura, setting off into the light.

+++  


# Thank Heaven for Little Girls

**Paul Hopkiss tried to shoot Lewis at Crevecoeur. He missed. What if he didn't. What if Lewis died at Crevecoeur?**

"Robbie, get off my back." James Hathaway said sleepily. 

"Daddy," Robbie Hathaway bounced on her father as if he was a horse. "Mum says get up."

He rolled over suddenly, as he was meant to, and caught her as she pitched to one side, giggling. He held her up over him. 

She straightened, spread her arms. "I'm an angel."

Now almost three years old, all of the magical creatures came alive for her. Though he and his wife were not religious at all, their daughter believed firmly in angels. The child had no books on angels, watched little TV. Certainly there were no angels on the internet.

He lowered her to his side. He'd asked before without joy: "Where did you learn about angels?" 

Robbie made the same face she usually did. He sighed, kissed her head, and swung his legs over the bed. She jumped up and wrapped her arms around his neck. "The angel told me," she whispered in his ear.

"James! I only cook breakfast once a week! Get down here," his wife shouted.

He had literally bumped into his wife a week after Lewis' death. He was thinking of Lewis and ran into her, spilling coffee on himself. The second time he plowed into her at the Ashmolean, scattering the papers she was carrying. The third time was at a pub where, after slamming into each other carrying full glasses of ale, they retreated to her place. 

Robbie Hathaway was the unexpected, delightful result. 

He scooped her round. "The angel talks to you."

"All the time. It's a boy angel. I wanted a girl angel, but he said you don't like labels. What's a label?"

James froze. He sat on the edge of the bed to keep from falling over. "A label tells us what something is. Mum put a label on your box of crayons."

"My angel doesn't like boxes."

He bit his lower lip, inhaled deeply. He studied to be a priest. He could name the hierarchies of angels.

His belief in God had died the day Lewis died. Simple as that.

"He's a guard angel," Robbie said. 

"Guardian." He had not asked her.

"Yeah. Can we have breakfast now?"

"Yes, please go tell your mum I'll be right down."

She scampered off.

He dressed quickly, weekend clothes for errands and chores. He and Robbie had a small garden patch in the yard where they were growing miraculous amounts of tomatoes.

Miraculous.

Like running into the same, perfect woman three times. Like having a baby despite taking precautions. Like coming to the sudden realization that despite the death of his truest and dearest friend, he was happy.

He ran down stairs. 

He'd never brought his daughter to the cemetery, though he came often enough. Robert and Valerie Lewis. They brought fresh flowers. Today was Val's birthday.

"What does your angel say?" James asked Robbie.

She beamed. She gave him a big, wet kiss and hugged his neck. "He says, 'Clever clogs."

+++

## Nunc dimittis 

**Author's Note:**

> Inspiration for this fic:  
> 1) "Purgatory" was inspired by the promise I made not to kill off any major characters during the Summer Lewis Challenge (month's almost over, mea culpa)  
> 2)"Hell" was inspired by a line in Valmouth's lovely fic: "The Past is Who They Are."  
> 3)"Sitting on a Tombstone" was inspired by suddenly seeing a slew (heh) of major character death Lewis fics in July. Paperscribe just posted a lovely fic where James is seeing ghosts too, "What Loves Have Come and Gone" so maybe the end of August is ghost month.  
> 4)"Thank Heaven" was inspired for no earthly reason....  
> Requiem Aeternam--Eternal Rest  
> Nunc dimittis--Now you may go


End file.
